The other day I was trimming my toenails
When you're old and kind of fat, toenails are a long long way away. You (I mean me, really but I'll speak in general terms because it's less embarassing) have to scrunch over to reach your feet. All of your internal organs get squooshed upwards and all of the air gets pushed out of your lungs. By the third toe you start seeing black spots with coloured rings around them. By the time you're halfway through the other foot, your temples are pounding, your heart is racing, and you can't remember your name. At this point, if you have any valuable information such as troop movements or the secret to cold fusion, you'd spill them to anyone who asked. Especially if they promised to finish the last few toes.
So, basically, my point is this is not so much fun.
As a consequence, your (I mean "my") toenails can get to be talons.
As I was saying, I was trimming my toenails the other day and was just not happy with how the big toenail was coming off. With a sigh and a moan of despair I straightened up, crossed my leg with my foot in my lap, sole up and folded the toe in toward me so that I could get a better look. I finished trimming the nail. Then I realized I could do the other toes like this as well!
It only took me fifty years to figure this out.
Now I can trim my toenails in comfort and ease. I can trim them anytime I want. Every day, if I so choose.
This I now pass on to you.
If I have done nothing else useful in my lifetime, at least I have given you this gift for your forthcoming decrepitude.